


We Only Have Tomorrow

by noos



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gendry and Theon are bonding over their pining, gendry and theon bonding bc that's the kind of shit i signed up for, happy fic, jon and dany are only mentioned, kind of, theon is alive and everyone is happy so hella au i guess, they're celebrating someone's wedding, tormund and sandor make on brand cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: Gendry stops abruptly next to the table, eyes widening when he notices the man. Theon meets his eyes. Gendry doesn’t know if he should sit or leave so he just stands there like a very awkward statue. Theon stares at Gendry for moment, raising his eyebrows. He still doesn’t move.“You can sit down, I don’t bite.”





	We Only Have Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anniebibananie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/gifts).



> I was going to write another fic. But this idea came and didn't leave me. So here it is. Everyone is happy so they might seem a little ooc. 
> 
> English is still not my first language.
> 
> Anniiiiiie I hope you like it! <3

Gendry forgot just how _hot_ King’s Landing could get.

It’s not like he’d been in Winterfell for that long now. It had been less than a year. It’s just that with winter truly coming to an end, the capital’s heat was particularly overwhelming on this night.

It didn’t help that he was surrounded by nearly everyone who’s ever crossed the Seven Kingdoms. They were celebrating Jon and Daenerys’ union, and naturally, the occasion drew people from all over Westeros and Essos.

Or perhaps his current annoyance had nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with that damned squire who’d been dancing with Arya for, what was it, four songs now?

Damn Podrick and his charming smile and his magic cock. Damn him to the seven pits of hell.

No, that wasn’t fair. He actually liked Pod. Just not his magic cock.

He can see Arya laugh again as she bumps into Sansa next to her. Her braid is loose from jumping around, strands of hair plastered to her flushed cheeks and smile wide on her face. She’s wearing a lighter jerkin than what she wears in the north, sleeveless and made from a lighter fabric. Silk, he thinks, but he doesn’t really know. He’s a smith, not a dressmaker.   

She almost tumbles down as she bumps into Tyrion on her other side, holding onto Pod’s arm to keep from falling.

Gendry’s not a violent person, but in that moment, bashing Podrick’s face with his mace doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

He sighs as he walks away from the scene and towards the back. Tormund tries to force a drink into his hands as he walks by him – he takes it, he could use one – and Sandor grumbles something next to him but Gendry doesn’t care enough to ask.

There’s an empty table towards the back of the castle’s courtyard, and Gendry makes a beeline for it. It’s only when he’s there that he realizes that the table’s not actually empty, Theon Greyjoy sitting alone on the bench.

Gendry stops abruptly next to the table, eyes widening when he notices the man. Theon meets his eyes. Gendry doesn’t know if he should sit or leave so he just stands there like a very awkward statue.  

Theon stares at Gendry for moment, raising his eyebrows. Gendry still doesn’t move.

“You can sit down, I don’t bite.”

Gendry breathes a sigh of relief before he takes a seat, leaving a bit of space between him and Theon.

“Sorry, it was just getting a little stuffy in the middle and I needed some air,” Gendry explains as he takes a sip from his cup.

“I don’t like crowds either,” Theon shrugs, drinking his own wine.

Gendry can’t help the curious look he gives him. He’s heard things about Theon, rumors about what he’s been through and what Ramsey did to him. But they don’t really talk, not unless they’re with Jon or Sansa, so he doesn’t really know him that well.

“For me it’s the music,” Gendry explains. “When I lived in Flea Bottom, they used to throw feasts at the Red Keep all the time. We lived in the slums so we were never invited, of course, but the music was always so loud we couldn’t sleep.”

Gendry almost wants to laugh. All those feasts that he hated, they were for his father.

Theon nods mutely, sidling closer on the bench.  

“To some fucking peace and quiet,” he mumbles, offering his cup to Gendry.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Gendry smiles darkly, bumping his cup with Theon’s and taking a sip.  

They both turn to stare at the mass of people celebrating and dancing, and to Gendry’s greatest misery, he realizes he can still make out Arya’s figure in the crowd all the way from where he’s sitting. Gods, he hates himself sometimes.

He sighs, looking away, only to notice Theon staring at the same spot. He follows Theon’s gaze and finally notices Sansa giggling as she dances with Arya and Jon. She’s not his type, but even he can admit that she looks pretty, her yellow dress and red hair flowing as she jumps around. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Gendry recognizes the look on Theon’s face. It’s the same one he gives Arya. It’s one that says Sansa could grow a third eye in the middle of her forehead and Theon would still think she’s the most beautiful creature in all the realms.

Theon finally takes his eyes off her for a second to notice Gendry staring at him. He clears his throat, taking a sip from his drink and averting his gaze. Even though the firelight is casting a dark orange glow on everything, Gendry can still see Theon’s cheeks flush at being caught.

“What were they like?” Gendry asks. Theon turns to look at him, a curious expression on his face. “The Starks,” he explains. “Before they came to King’s Landing and their entire world came crashing.”

“Wild.” Theon smiles, eyes shining. “Happy. Loud. Fierce.” He pauses. “Warm.” Gendry can’t help but smile. “We’d chase each other around the castle. Sansa would yell at us the entire time, but she’d play anyway. Jon would always catch us all. Except for Arya. She was always too quick for him.”

Gendry’s grin grows wider.

_You don’t know how quick I am._

It seems she wasn’t lying back then. But he always knew she wasn’t. He saw how fierce she was, even when they were young.

“There it is,” Theon mutters, chuckling to himself.

Gendry furrows his brow at the man next to him.

“What?”

“Arya…” Theon trails off, his blue eyes observing Gendry’s face. “You love her,” he says matter-of-factly.

Gendry gasps, spluttering like a fish out of water as he tries to think of something useful to say. Something that makes it seem like he’s offended at the insinuation. Something that makes it seem like Theon is wrong.

“I do not!”

He wants to punch himself in the face.

“Please, Baratheon, you’re not exactly subtle about it either.”

And now he wants to hit Theon, if only to smack that smile off his face.

“Don’t call me that,” Gendry snaps, anger bubbling inside of him. “I’m a lowborn,” he continues, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. He turns to look at where Arya’s dancing. He can’t see much of her anymore, hidden somewhere in the crowd, but he knows she’s there. “I’m a bastard,” he mumbles, the anger dissipating and making way to the sinking feeling that settles in his stomach whenever he thinks of all the reasons why he and Arya could never work.

“You think Arya gives a shit about that?”

Theon snorts. When Gendry turns to look at him, there’s no malice to his expression. He just looks honestly surprised that Gendry would ever believe something like that.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Gendry mutters, staring at the bottom of his cup as he swirls the wine to distract himself. “It wouldn’t be proper. She shouldn’t have to marry—“ He pauses. Sighs. “Podrick is a good man.”

“And he is absolutely not the kind of man for Arya.” Theon waits until Gendry looks at him “Too eager,” he shrugs, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his drink. “Besides, I didn’t even know you were thinking about marriage already.”

“No, I’m not—“

“You’re in it deep, aren’t you?” Theon asks curiously before Gendry can get another word in.

He feels himself growing warmer, the hole he keeps digging for himself getting wider by the second. He turns to look at the dancers again, noticing Sansa’s red hair.

“You’re one to talk!” He finally manages, turning to look at Theon.

“And what does that mean?” Theon asks, raising his eyebrows.

The music’s somehow louder than before so Gendry scoots closer to the other man.

“It means I might be stupid, but I’m not blind. It means I’ve seen the way you look at Lady Sansa.”

Theon’s eyes widen for a split second before he pulls himself together.

“That’s different. We grew up together.”

“And did you look at her that same way when she was a child?” Gendry challenges. “Because I’m sure her brothers would’ve had something to say about that.”

“Didn’t you meet Arya when she was a little girl of ten?” Theon shoots back, voice rising as he tries to deflect, looking away.

“Twelve,” Gendry corrects. “And I certainly didn’t think about her that way back then.”

“But you think about her that way now.”

It’s not a question. Gendry won’t try to lie, but he looks up until his eyes meet Theon’s.

“And you think about Sansa the same way.”

Theon doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he sighs deeply and looks down at his empty cup.

“Doesn’t matter what I think about Sansa,” he murmurs, eyes darkening. “I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t give her a family.”

Gendry feels an overwhelming sense of grief, all of a sudden. At what this man has been through. At what was taken away from him.

“I don’t know Lady Sansa that well, but I think she might surprise you if you tell her.”

Wish as he might, Gendry really doesn’t know her well enough to deny what Theon is implying. But he has eyes. He’s seen how Sansa looks at Theon. He knows from Arya how much she cares about the man who grew up with them.

“Are you going to tell Arya, then?” Theon asks.

It sounds much less like a challenge and much more like a request. A plea, almost.

_If you tell Arya, I’ll tell Sansa._

“There you are!” Her voice interrupts them before Gendry can say anything else. He’s barely had time to turn to look at Arya before she’s plopped herself down on the bench next to him, scooting close enough that her bare arm brushes against his. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she tells him, smiling as she reaches for his cup and takes a sip. She wrinkles her nose at the bitter taste. Her hair is even wilder now than it was before, sticking to her forehead and her cheeks. Her eyes are wide and bright as she looks at him and her cheeks are a deep pink color. She looks beautiful. She smiles up at him again, scooting even closer and looping her arms around his own. She’s a little tipsy, he can tell. “Hide me,” she begs. “I can’t take another second of dancing with Pod.”

Theon makes a sound between a cough and a snort next to him, and Gendry suddenly remembers that Arya’s not the only person in the world. He turns to look at his new friend – are they friends yet? He’s not sure, but he thinks they might be getting there – and finds Theon staring at him with an expression that screams “told you”.

“Theon,” Arya says suddenly, leaning forward and over Gendry’s lap to get a better look at the man she’s addressing, “Sansa was asking for you. I think she’s…” She trails off, searching around until she spots her sister. “Sansa!” She yells, waving one of her arms to catch her attention. “Theon’s here!”

Sansa rushes over to them, immediately reaching out for Theon’s hand. “I was looking for you,” she tells him. “Let’s dance!”

“No, Sansa I-“

“Theon, please?” She interrupts, eyes wide as they look at him. Gendry wants to laugh. The boy doesn’t stand a chance. Proving Gendry right, Theon sets his cup down on the table and gets up, hand still in Sansa’s. She laughs excitedly, her eyes turning bright. She turns to look at her sister. Arya’s arms are wrapped around Gendry’s again, her head pressed to his upper arm. “Arya, why don’t you and Gendry join us?”

“My feet hurt,” Arya mumbles, shaking her head but sighing contentedly. “I’m going to sit this one out. Besides, I’m comfortable here.”

Gendry feels something swell inside of him, his heart beating so fast he worries it might leap out of his chest. He looks down at the girl next to him, smiling at her before he averts his attention back to Sansa and Theon.

Sansa nods as she shoots them a knowing look and starts to tug at Theon’s hand. He smiles at her before turning to Gendry again.  

“So?”

Gendry looks down at Arya. She’s tapping her fingers against his arm absently, her eyes closed.

“Tomorrow,” Gendry promises.

Theon looks at his and Sansa’s interlocked hands before taking in her face. She’s staring at him curiously, a little breathless. Her eyes are soft and her red hair is wild and loose as she looks at him. Theon swallows thickly before he turns to Gendry again, but before he can get another word in, Sansa is already pulling him away.

“I’ll let you know how it goes!” He yells before he’s out of sight.

Gendry laughs.


End file.
